Kiss of Language
by Molten-Ashes
Summary: "Prowl, you just let your little brother molest one of the most dangerous mechs on base..."


Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers

Please R&R

(No idea where this came from other than that I wanted glossas to have another function other than smooching for certain types of mechs. Either way, you get to see Jazz freak out and Sunstreaker stupified. Enjoy!)

**Bold:** **Praxian language **

Normal: Common Iaconian

* * *

Praxians, Jazz decided, were Primus' experimental playground.

Of course, he wasn't saying this out of malice, it was more out of a sheer 'You have a what, that is where on your person?!' situation that Prowl had enlightened him to when Bluestreak had joined the Autobot ranks after the fall of Praxus.

The poor mech didn't know an ounce of another dialect other than traditional Praxian, an old stuffy language that had been taught in the Praxian Temples of Primus. This actually turned into a severe problem as Smokescreen and Prowl, both having a natural talent with Cybertron wide languages had to translate if the grey gunner ever wanted to interact with the Rec-Room.

Fortunately, as always and after a secret council with Smokescreen that Jazz totally _hadn't_ been jealous of, Prowl formulated one of his famous Plans to help Bluestreak learn the common Iacon dialect. Unfortunately, Bluestreak chose Sunstreaker as his tutor, despite Prowl, Jazz and Smokescreen's various attempts to dissuade him.

Later that break time, Jazz discovered that Prowl and Smokey were trying to dissuade Bluestreak from Sunstreaker for a totally different reason other than the potential of losing one of the last Praxian's to the golden frontliner's fists.

_**===Bluestreak===**_

"Sunstreaker. This is Bluestreak." Prowl introduced with a quick gesture to the innocent looking grey mech that waved down at the Twins as they gambled for some contraband High Grade. "You will be teaching him how to speak Iaconian."

"What?!" the shiny gold mech hissed acidly as Cliffjumper, from a safe get-away distance like most of the Rec-Room, had the courage to laugh at him.

"You want him to teach Bluestreak? By Primus! He barely has a grasp of social language as it is!" the rash minibot cackled, prompting the rest of the room to join in with his jeering.

"Say that again, you walking malfunction, I dare you..." The sociopath snarled, denta bared at Cliffjumper, promising pain, before glaring up at the black and white tactician as his twin snickered beside him. "No, give the new cannon fodder to somebody else."

"You _will_ teach him Sunstreaker." The Second in Command growled, his doorwings flashing out in a wide display of authority.

"Just do it bro." Sideswipe advised, flexing his servos with a frown as he lost the hand to the snickering Smokescreen, "I don't really want to scrub the brig out with a torn rag again." the frontliner smiled almost lecherously over his new fan of cards as he roamed his optics over Bluestreak's frame, "Besides, check him out, he'll be a nice tumble in the berth if anything."

Unimpressed, Prowl turned to the doe opticked sniper beside him with a sigh as the sniper shrugged and chirred at him in their City's language. "**I'm happy to do it here, big brother.**"

"**I'm not; I'd rather not have to give the whole Rec-Room a lecture on how Praxian's learn different languages.**" He grumped back, his doorwings fluttering in disapproval when he saw Jazz lounging nearby keen to see the drama. "**Besides, I think Jazz would have a spark attack if he knew **_**how**_** I learned all of the languages I know.**"

"**Well, you don't have Polyhexian on your list of dialects yet.**"His little brother chirruped, nudging his eldest sibling suggestively, the slightly larger Praxian giving a grunt of annoyance.

"**Shut up and go do it.**" Prowl snapped, pointing at the now frustrated looking Sunstreaker that rose from his chair to loom over both of the brothers chatting in their native tongue, most of the Rec-Room turning warily to the scene, preparing to restrain Sunstreaker if it came down to it.

To every Autobot's surprise, Prowl stalked off to sit beside Jazz, taking a liberal swig of the protesting Saboteur's drink and watching the new Praxian like a cyber-hawk while tapping his pede on the floor impatiently.

"What do you want shrimp?" Sunstreaker snarled down at the grey plated mech that smiled up at him, before the new gunner stuck out his glossa at the polish obsessed front liner. "You have a deactivation wish?" he growled when the Rec-Room gasped in horror, his fingers clenching into fists, only for his blue optics to widen in slight horror as he actually realised just what Bluestreak was doing to his glossa.

The grey sniper casually reached up with his slightly clawed fingers and ripped off a good portion of the tip.

A scream of 'What the Frag are you doing?!' and 'Somebody call Ratchet, the newbie's gone insane!' came from somewhere at the back of the room, but Sunstreaker merely stared in morbid fascination as he realised that the tip of the tasting organ was only a type of cap.

Behind the cap, two USB like protrusions moved out on snake like muscle cables lathered with oral fluids, both seeming to move of their own violation. "**Don't worry, this won't hurt a bit. In fact, you might even find it pleasurable; I've been told this feels great for both parties involved...**" Bluestreak soothed, slowly reaching up, caressing Sunstreaker's helm fins before dragging the golden mech into a harsh kiss.

Bluestreak smirked as he managed to wiggle the two protrusions into Sunstreaker's oral cavity, blocking the teeth that the front liner attempted to use on the sensitive snake cables with the rest of his glossa, which had all the sensors deadened for the process. As his prey tried to struggle away from him, he clasped the helm fins tighter and closer as the Language Cabling slipped down the temperamental mech's throat to the vocaliser memory storage box, both USB like tips plugging into the internal ports that all mecha sported for the downloading of their native language when their frames were created.

The surge of new language racing into Bluestreak's processor made him smile against the silver lips of his unwilling tutor that was now growling in mild pleasured distress. Prowl was right, this was fun! No wonder the tactician loved to learn languages!

The whole process took half a breem, the Language Cabling retracting back into the glossa as Bluestreak detached from the stupefied Sunstreaker and replaced the cap, flicking out the now completed metal organ to lick coyly at his lip-plates.

The Rec-Room was in no better shape, mechs and the occasional femme staring with their mouths open and conversation forgotten.

"Hi, everybody, my name is Bluestreak." The new Praxian purred with an innocent wave in perfect Iaconian and took a small bow, "I look forward to getting to know you all!"

Then with a shy grin, the grey mech leaned up and gave the still slightly shell-shocked Sunstreaker a kiss on the cheek and sending him a data burst with his details, "Call me!" he chirred bouncing out the room with a hysterically giggling Prowl and Smokescreen stumbling off behind him.

_**===Later that Orn=== **_

"Alright, what in the Holy Pits was that?!" Jazz half shrieked at the stoic looking Prowl currently shuffling through his data-pads upon his desk.

"It was a KOL. Or Kiss of Language." Prowl shrugged, not bothering to look up from the latest weapons list, "I assume that's what you are here about?"

"Of course! I mean, you just let your little brother molest one of the most dangerous mechs on base!" the black and white third in command fidgeted. "He won't last the recharge cycle… well… he'll last until Sunstreaker stops staring off into space and gets his act together."

"It wasn't molestation." The black and white Praxian snorted, rolling his optics, "It was a simple, highly pleasurable transfer of dialect. It's a Praxian custom. Why do you think the tourists called Praxus the City of Romance? They all thought a KOL was a simple snog in the street."

"So… uh.. how many dialects have you picked up?" Jazz asked darkly, visor glinting in jealousy.

"All but one." The tactician shrugged, rising from the desk and slinking round to loom over the sitting Jazz with a smirk as he pried off the cap on his glossa, leaning into the saboteur's personal space with a devilish smirk, "And, Primus willing, after I learn Polyhexian from you, we can take this party back to my quarters?"


End file.
